


But Baby It's COVID Outside

by Bella_Dahlia



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: And yet, Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Male-Female Friendship, Quarantine Shenanigans, Slow Burn, aggressive cinema arguments, i know i don't, no betas we die like men, no one asked for this, seriously do Riverdale fic authors bother watching the show anymore?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:09:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24442621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bella_Dahlia/pseuds/Bella_Dahlia
Summary: Jughead finally allowed his duffel bag to slide off of his shoulder to the floor. He reached out toward the keycard, his fingers hovering just next to hers without actually grasping the plastic.“I’m gonna be controlling the streaming media on that television at least 80% of the time it’s on,” he said. Whether it was a promise or a threat was up for argument.“As purchaser of all said streaming media, I reserve the right to veto when I’m present,” Veronica countered with an arched eyebrow.“One veto override per day,” Jughead shot back. Her second eyebrow joined the first and he rolled his eyes. “Fine, once per week.”Which is how Jughead Jones and Veronica Lodge ended up in quarantine together.OR--The Jeronica Quarantine Fic Literally No One Asked For
Relationships: Jughead Jones & Veronica Lodge, Jughead Jones/Veronica Lodge
Comments: 13
Kudos: 58





	But Baby It's COVID Outside

**Author's Note:**

> This global pandemic has us all doing wacky things, and returning to a fandom of a show I haven't watched in two years is no exception. But when Lady Inspiration knocks, you answer, right?
> 
> So this is to say, 1) This fic will probably only acknowledge season 1 as canon, because frankly it's a completely different show after that. 2) This is in no way meant to minimize, detract from, or make light of the situation with this disease. Please accept it as it is, which is meant to be a soft light in a dim world.

Jughead Jones knew better than to talk in the group chat. He fucking _knew better_. Anytime he did, disaster followed. The last time he said anything, Toni stopped talking to him for almost a month. He couldn’t leave the chat, of course, Cheryl would immediately re-add him every time he did, but he could silent the alerts and ignore it for days at a time. Normally that tactic worked great, but then COVID-19 happened, and New York went on lockdown, and he got word that the dorms would be kicking him out, and the panic of realizing he had no immediate fall back housing made him stupidly message the group.

He sent off his innocent inquiry about what everyone else was doing for quarantine, and only afterward noticed that someone had changed his group chat handle to “HissHissMFers.” That should have been his first clue about what a terrible mistake he made. 

24 hours and one splitting headache later, Jughead stood on the street in front of a brand new apartment complex in Williamsburg, his worldly possessions crammed into his messenger bag and a single duffel. He stared down the list of buzzers, the name LODGE staring back at him in an elegant cursive. All he needed to do was press the button, but his hands remained wrapped around the straps of his bags, his breath hot and humid under the scarf wrapped around his face. Two and a half years he’d been living in the city, growing out of Riverdale’s shadow, and still, he felt uncomfortable around obvious wealth. One month’s rent in this complex probably cost more than he made in the last year at the Cafe Grumpy.

His phone buzzed in his back pocket, and Jughead started in surprise. He let his duffel drop on the pavement and dug the phone out--one look at the caller ID made him roll his eyes but he answered nonetheless.

“Seriously, do you require an express invitation?” Veronica had her “I want you to assume I’m irritated but it’s not actually that big of a deal” voice on. Jughead learned to recognize it early on in their high school career. “Vampires haven’t upgraded to the 21st century and begun accepting text invites?”

“You’d have to ask Cheryl,” Jughead shot back. “I’m just trying to figure out the chances of catching The Rona from this buzzer station, it’s gross down here you know.”

The doors blared to signal the locked being released.

“I’ll save you, Jughead,” she said blandly, then hung up the phone.

Jughead let out a slow breath, the buzzer still droning in the background. He covered his free hand with the sleeve of his denim jacket, in order to pull the handle and open the door. He knew it was just his imagination, but when the door clicked shut behind him, it echoed in his head with an ominous tone. _No weaseling out of it now, Jones_ , it seemed to say. 

  
  


**DAY ONE**

“This door is the bathroom, that door is my closet--which is strictly off limits to your grubby boy hands--and that is the pantry.” Veronica stopped and spun on her heel to face Jughead. Only a fast course correction kept him from running right into her.

“Uhh, Veronica…”  
  
“This--” she cut in, holding up a keycard between her index and middle finger. “--Is your key. It gets you in the front and side door entrances. You also need it for getting into the gym, the pool, and for the room with the trash chute at the end of the hall. The trash goes out to the chute _before_ it begins to smell, not after, Forsythe.”

“Okay, but, Veronica…”

“The wifi password is on the fridge, as well as the best three delivery options. Other take out menus are in the second drawer from the top on the right hand of the stove. I know you would have preferred I led with this information, but I figured holding it to last ensured your attention for the other, actually important things I had to say.”

Jughead scowled. “Multiple jabs at my cleanliness and character aside--Veronica, this is a studio apartment.”

She tilted her head to one side, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. He hadn’t seen the look in years, but he remembered it well. It was her “exactly how dumb are you” look; he usually saw it flung in Reggie Mantle’s direction. “Why, yes, yes it is,” she said slowly. “As you can see, I already pulled out the pull out couch for you.”

Indeed, the couch was pulled out, crisp sheets already neatly in place. It was ridiculously close to the queen sized bed that sat on a low frame in one corner of the apartment; only a japanese paper folding screen created a barrier of separation between the two pieces of furniture. 

Jughead closed his eyes and took a breath. It was one thing when he thought he was going to be sharing an apartment with Veronica for an indefinite period, but being in the same room virtually at all times? 

“I had no idea I’d be encroaching on your space this much,” he said. “I know Betty bullied you into this arrangement as much as me, you don’t have to do this.”

Something flickered across Veronica’s face, but not the something he expected. Joy, relief, maybe even slight embarrassment--these he expected. Instead, it felt much more like… disappointment? But it was also gone as soon as it arrived, disappearing with a signature Veronica hair toss. 

“Betty may still have you wrapped around your little finger despite icing you out of the bedroom ages ago, but her wiles have very little effect on me,” she said. “I offered because I have a bed. One that isn’t a blow up mattress on Fred Andrews’ floor. If you don’t want it, you could have saved both of us a lot of time and just said so.”

Disappointment wasn’t quite right, Jughead realized. She was hurt. _Aw, shit_. 

He’d hurt her feelings. 

Jughead finally allowed his duffel bag to slide off of his shoulder to the floor. He reached out toward the keycard, his fingers hovering just next to hers without actually grasping the plastic. 

“I’m gonna be controlling the streaming media on that television at least 70% of the time it’s on,” he said. Whether it was a promise or a threat was up for argument. 

“As purchaser of all said streaming media, I reserve the right to veto when I’m present,” Veronica countered with an arched eyebrow.

“One veto override per day,” Jughead shot back. Her second eyebrow joined the first and he rolled his eyes. “Fine, once per week.

She stared up at him a moment, her dark eyes flickering over his features, before a small grin broke over her face. “Make yourself useful and pick us someplace for dinner.”

Which is how Jughead Jones and Veronica Lodge ended up in quarantine together. 

  
  


**DAY THREE**

He wasn’t sure if it was a coping response to the stress, or if he had just discovered the secret to her consistent success, but either way, one thing was certain: Veronica Lodge didn’t sleep. At least, not much. Her insomniac tendencies were enough to rival Jughead’s, and he didn’t think that was humanly possible for the general population. And how she managed it while maintaining a flawless complexion, he couldn’t fathom.

The first two nights in Veronica’s apartment the television stayed on until almost 3am--she could watch from her bed as easily as he could watch from his, and her silhouette through the paper screen proved she was up even if they didn’t chat. His first morning she was already dressed and immaculate by the time he roused up from his fitful slumber, but this morning he woke to the sound of her entering the apartment, her wet hair dripping down on the towel wrapped around her body. For a moment, still half asleep, he couldn’t understand why she had left the apartment to take a shower. Then he saw the goggles dangling from one of her hands and realized she must have been down at the pool. 

“You realize staring, even when you’re only semi-conscious, is rude?” Veronica said, shutting the front door with a flipflopped foot.

Jughead blinked and shook his head slightly, tangled curls of dark hair falling in his eyes. “I meant to be silently willing the coffee pot into action with my gaze,” he mumbled. “I just have terrible aim.”

Veronica rolled her eyes, but flipped on the coffee pot on her way to the refrigerator. “I thought you were supposed to be the self succificent one in the group?”

“Only when necessity demands it of me,” Jughead replied, stifling a yawn with his fist. He stumbled off towards the bathroom, almost wiping out on the well polished--and therefore obnoxiously slippery--floor. Soft sniggering sounded behind him, and he raised his hand in a one fingered salute behind him without looking in her direction.

“Classy!’ she called as he shut the door to the bathroom.

“I learned it from watching you, okay?!” Jughead hollered back through the door. He was waiting for an indignant huff, or some snarky comeback, but the only response he got was a gentle, delighted laugh. 

  
  


**DAY FIVE**

“We are _not_ watching 28 Days Later. Again.”

“Aw, c’mon.”

“No.”

“But--”

“I’m using my power of Veto, Jughead.”

“...Yeah, no, I’m gonna override.”

“Seriously?”

“Yup.”

“We’ve watched it twice already. You wanna use your once a week override to rewatch a zombie flick?”

“I’m in a mood, okay?”

“Jesus.”

  
  


**DAY SIX**

When Jughead had his Beats on, most outside noise was effectively canceled. But the frustrated scream that came from Veronica’s throat was enough to cut through the sounds of his going-on-hour-three podcast binge. He paused the episode with a tap and pulled the headphones down around his neck, just in time to catch the last of Veronica’s triade.

“--don’t, you stupid fucking son of Windows Vista piece of crap, no no no!”

Jughead’s eyebrows shot up. “Veronica Lodge, are you… insulting your operating system?”

From her spot standing in front of her dresser, her computer sitting on top, Veronica banged her head against the keyboard dramatically. “Zoom. Crashed. _Again_.”

A quick google search brought up exactly what Jughead suspected. “Ah, Zoom has kicked it globally,” he said. “It was only a matter of time, the platform was never designed for this amount of traffic.”

“I just want to go to class!” Veronica moaned. “I have a plan, I have a schedule, and it does not include needing an extra year of school because of a global pandemic!”

For a moment, Jughead felt like they were right back in high school again, Veronica sitting across from him at Pop’s or in the student lounge, decrying some perceived injustice that screamed of naive privilege. “At least you would be able to afford another year, unlike some of us,” he said, sharper than he meant to.

That was Veronica’s cue to condescendingly explain to him why she was justified in her outrage, but it never happened. Instead she turned to look over her shoulder at him, and Jughead saw frustrated tears glittering her in dark eyes.

“You’re right,” she rasped, then cleared her throat, working hard to reign in the emotions bubbling at the surface. “Sorry, I’m just… Sorry.”

Jughead sat, watching in dumbfounded silence as Veronica shut her laptop and disappeared into the bathroom. 

In almost six years of knowing her, that was the first time he could remember Veronica apologizing to him. 

  
  


**DAY EIGHT**

  
  
“Oh my God, just pick something already.

Jughead started, the sound of Veronica’s voice from the other side of the screen catching him completely off guard. He had zoned out scrolling through Netflix options, lingering on titles long enough to watch the trailer and ultimately dismiss each one in turn. 

“I’m just trying to find something that looks interesting.”

From the other side of the paper screen, Veronica scooted down to the edge of her bed so that she could look at Jughead directly. Her dark hair was swept up into a messy bun, her clothing consisting of an oversized sweater falling off of one shoulder and a pair of terry cloth shorts. He had assumed she would insist on looking as immaculate and polished as she did all through high school, since she now had an audience, but she had surprised him with just how relaxed she was about her appearance around him. He probably just didn’t count as Real People to Veronica Lodge.

“Do you have any idea how long you’ve been doing this?” she asked archly.

“I dunno,” Jughead said. “Ten minutes?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Try fifty two, Torombolo.”

That couldn’t be right. Jughead sat up from his slouch on his bed, groping blindly for his phone among the sheets. “You’re exaggerating.”

“I’m counting,” Veronica shot back, holding her phone up for him to see. Even with their distance, the timer app clearly flipped from 52 minutes to 53. 

He couldn’t help but wince. “Alright, this may be slightly excessive.”

“You think?” Warmth laced her voice, assuring him she wasn’t truly irritated. Tension thrumming through his shoulders relaxed slightly and Jughead let out a slow breath. Everytime Veronica actually spoke to him, he carried a sense of dread that this would be the moment that she decided he was just too annoying and kick him out. After the other day, he felt at least partly responsible for making her go cry silently in the bathroom, and assumed he was already on thin ice.

“We could turn the TV off,” Veronica said. “Do something else. Maybe actually interact like we’re living in the same space.”

“What, like argue over the merits of Christopher Nolan?” Jughead said.

“David Fincher is just _better_ , admit it,” she returned quickly.

“They do different things!” he said, not for the first time this week.

“At least you’re over thinking Quentin Tarantino is, like, the best thing ever to happen to cinema,” Veronica said.

For a moment, Jughead considered giving into the impulse to hop off of the bed and get to his feet for a proper soapbox moment, but his better judgement made him refrain. Despite the often awkward nature of their arrangement, he really didn’t want to have to impose himself onto anyone else, and he definitely didn’t have the money to get an apartment of his own. Instead he just turned the television off, throwing the apartment into darkness, save for the dim light from the windows. 

“Seriously?” he heard Veronica mutter, but he just laid down, settling back into the pillows with a determination to keep his mouth shut.

  
  


**DAY ELEVEN**

“Y’know, the very empty desk by the window is up for grabs.”

Jughead blinked and looked up from his laptop. It was actually the first thing Veronica had said to him in over 24 hours. The day before she came back from the pool silent and sullen, and he didn’t ask and she didn’t volunteer, so they just stayed silent. If it had been Betty, he would have gently inquired, offered a shoulder and a smile. If it had been Archie, he would have shoved an XBox controller in his hand and waited for him to start talking. Hell, he even knew if it had been Cheryl, he would have just asked what crawled up her ass and died there. But yesterday he had the uncomfortable realization that for all the time he’d spent with Veronica as part of their larger circle, he didn’t actually know her very well. And because he didn’t know what to do, he did nothing at all, and figured she’d talk to him sooner or later.

“Huh?” he said, because he was nothing if not eloquent.

From her spot at the kitchen island, Veronica jabbed a well manicured nail at the desk. “If I have you watch you switch positions one one more time this hour, I am going to put on Hip to be Square and grab my raincoat. The desk is for you, Jones.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” he grumbled. He rolled from his stomach to his back in order to sit, then stand, scooping up his laptop in one hand as he did so. 

“Oh, I dunno, maybe through your fierce powers of observation of the fact that I never use it,” she snapped.

Jughead opened his mouth to reply and did a quick mental rundown of the last week of activities inside the apartment, ready to call out the numerous times she had, in fact, used it. He was certain she’d been at it for schoolwork, or zoom meetings, or eating lunch. Except that she wasn’t. She always used the kitchen island, or her bed, or even her dresser--it was at the right height for her to stand at while barefoot. She had the habit of putting her weight on one foot, the other one wrapping to rub at the back of her ankle while she thought. She wouldn’t put it down again until she knew exactly what she wanted to type next, the fluffy of fingers on a keyboard signaling a need for solid footing. 

Wait, why did he know _that_ but didn’t know she abstained from using the desk?

From across the room, Veronica arched a challenging eyebrow in his direction and Jughead clapped his mouth shut. For the first time in over a day, she smiled. It was thin, and a little gloating, but a smile nonetheless. “The words you’re looking for are, Thank You.”

“You’re welcome,” Jughead muttered back, moving over to the desk and sliding his laptop onto it. It was a clean space, except for a fountain pen sitting upright in a granite base, and a single framed photo. It was from Pop’s on graduation day: Betty and Archie sat on one side of the booth with their vanilla shakes in front of them, still decked out in their robes and caps, while Jughead and Veronica sat on their other side, chocolate shakes in their hands, their graduation regalia sitting in a heap at their feet under the table. Betty and Archie were making some pretty strong googly eyes at each other while Jughead and Veronica looked equal parts exasperated and grossed out. Toni had snapped the picture without their knowledge and declared it the best family portrait she had ever taken. 

“This is your choice in lasting high school memories?” Jughead asked skeptically.

Veronica looked down at her laptop, letting her dark hair fall to curtain her face. “All the best times were at Pop’s,” she replied. “This is the only one I have a picture of.”

He looked down at the picture again, a wistfulness coursing through him. It was so long ago, and it was yesterday. “I thought I was the only one who felt that way.”

“You were always good at that.”

Jughead looked up, but her head was still down, no facial expression to clue him in. “Good at what?”

“Assuming you know other people when you don’t actually bother to get to know them at all.”

He reared back as though he’d been physically struck, the quiet resignation in her voice shocking him just as much as anything else. He’d somehow hurt her feelings, _again_. He wanted to defend himself. He wanted to make her feel better. He wanted to say half a dozen different things, all of them jumbling together in his brain, but Veronica put her Airpods into her ears and walked her computer over to her bed and he knew he lost his shot. Instead he sat down at the desk, his back to her, and tried to puzzle out how he missed something as obvious as Veronica wanting to be his friend.

  
  


**DAY TWELVE**

After pretending to be asleep while Veronica got up and ready to head down for the pool, Jughead crawled out of bed as soon as the front door shut behind her. He had roughly forty minutes to put into action the plan he had concocted during his sleepless night, and he would need all forty of those minutes to succeed.

Forty one and a half minutes later, Jughead swore, not for the first time, at the small espresso machine on Veronica’s kitchen counter. His fourth attempt at using her steam wand--which she somehow always got velvety rich foam from--had still not achieved the desirable results. He did this for a living, dammit, why did he keep screwing this up?

With a frustrated growl, he set the milk pitcher down and opened the steam wand up, letting it whistle wildly as he cleaned it with a damp rag. He was debating whether it was worth going for attempt number five when the door to the apartment opened and he realized he had definitely lost track of time.

“Shit.”

Veronica just tilted her head in response, only looking more confused as the steam wand continued to scream. Jughead cut it off quickly and dropped the rag into the sink.

“I had meant to clean up before you got back,” he explained. He grabbed the milk pitcher, gently pouring the contents into the waiting mug, a wide lipped black mug that had Boss Lady inscribed on the side in red cursive letters.

“You own no less than 9 coffee mugs but you wash this one every day to use again, because it’s your favorite,” Jughead began, handing the coffee over to her. “Audrey Hepburn is your favorite actress. You think her best performance is in Wait Until Dark, not Breakfast at Tiffany’s. You buy your friends cupcakes but you never eat them yourself because you think they always have too much icing on them. You put your bagel back together and eat it like a sandwich after you put the cream cheese on, because you’re a heathen. Everyone buys you roses, but your actual favorite flower is the dahlia.” With this he pulled out a bouquet of a wild variety of different colored Dahlia flowers, all printed on cardstock and cut out to stand in an empty coffee mug. The remnants of the cardstock from where he furiously hacked them out with scissors lay at his feet, and he hoped like hell Veronica didn’t come around to his side of the kitchen island anytime soon to discover the carnage. “I am very observant. I’m also just an idiot. So, y’know, I, ah…”

Clutching her coffee, Veronica looked up at him with eyes that were bright and glassy. She reached out to the paper flowers, the tips of her fingers grazing over the edges of them. “Apology accepted, Jug,” she told him, a smile curling the corners of her mouth.

Warmth bloomed in Jughead’s chest, bright and clear and downright alarming. He had wanted to apologize, and make her feel better, but only in this moment did her realize he wanted to see her smile. That he wanted to feel the way her voice, when it was gentle and teasing, could make his whole body glow with appreciation. 

Jughead cleared his throat and took a step back, half turning away from Veronica. He felt heat in his face, which he desperately hoped just read as too much time in front of the steam wand. “I got bagels delivered, I thought we could maybe eat at the same time and maybe not have the TV on.”

Which is how Jughead Jones and Veronica Lodge became friends while in quarantine together.


End file.
